


Game of Chance

by luciolelights



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Anal Sex, Au Ra Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Cunnilingus, Dom/sub, Light Bondage, M/M, Male Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Orgasm Delay/Denial, Pegging, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Trans Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-14 17:06:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29545581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luciolelights/pseuds/luciolelights
Summary: Aymeric pulls away, his voice dropping low, “I would prefer to hear such a title from your lips when I have you within my grasp, begging for my attention.”Zexin chuckles, “How bold of you to assume me to be asubmissive.”
Relationships: Aymeric de Borel/Warrior of Light
Kudos: 33





	Game of Chance

**Author's Note:**

> Hi this is my first FFXIV fic please be gentle
> 
> Here is 5k of self-indulgent horny nonsense. Written using my own WoL, not intended to be an insert-your-WoL type of story, but the real focus here is Aymeric getting railed
> 
> My WoL is a trans guy, author is trans. I use masc terminology for his junk. 
> 
> You can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/luciolelights) and [tumblr](http://luciolelights.tumblr.com/)
> 
> More info on my WoL [here](https://zextruly.carrd.co)

“...May I ask a personal question?”

That brings Zexin’s movements to a halt, freezing just before setting his wine glass back down against the table. Aymeric’s eyes are bright, that pale blue striking themselves into his very soul. Those wicked lips of his curl into a smile, awaiting the Warrior of Light’s reply. 

Naturally, the concept of asking something _personal_ had Zexin’s heart racing. He finds himself idly staring at those blessedly perfect lips, imagining just how sweet they must taste, allowing the silence between them to linger. The wine had yet to dull his senses enough not to notice the way Aymeric’s eyes give him a pointed stare, a single eyebrow raising as if to repeat his request. Zexin snaps back to attention, answering with a nod.

Relief seems to wash over Aymeric’s face, and he continues,“Now that the dust has settled, what will you do? Not as a Scion, I mean, but…” he pauses, eyes flickering to his plate, almost sheepishly, “what do you want for yourself?”

Time seems to stand still as the question lingers in the air between them. Zexin hesitates, his chest coiling up like a spring waiting to burst forth. Even he isn’t brave enough to indulge his honest intent so soon, despite normally enjoying this game of tug and war with the objects of his affections. 

Aymeric… Aymeric was different. He wanted to savour him, impatient as he may be.

Those brows of Aymeric’s, two perfectly fine lines coloured as coal, lifted to note that Zexin was hesitating. The Xaela clears his throat, averting his gaze so that Aymeric’s sky blue eyes are no longer digging into his very core. The temptation to let his cards fall into place sooner is fierce with that man staring upon him as if he were the only one in Eorzea. 

It is not until he spots Aymeric’s resolve falter with a twinge of disappointment that he finally pushes forward, feeling renewed and fiercely determined. 

“Perhaps,” Zexin finally speaks up, a grin forming as the words fall into place, chin resting in hand, “what I desire is not something so easily achieved.”

“Oh?” The corner of Aymeric’s lips quirk up just before he takes a sip from the wine in his goblet. He continues after he sets it back down, “and, if I may ask, what might that be?”

“You.”

That single word is simple, direct, yet it sets such a flame upon them both.

Aymeric reacts quickly, his eyes going wide, that fierce stoicism disappearing for but a fleeting moment. He chuckles quietly as his usual mask of indifference returns, letting the rim of his goblet hide the flush crawling up his cheeks.

Zexin falters, if only for a fear of losing his most prized catch, “If I am being too forward, Ser Aymeric, I apologize—“

“No,” Aymeric interrupts, with not a moment’s hesitation, “I should be the one to apologize. Here you are, coveted in honesty, and yet I…” he pauses, frowning, then his hand swiftly obscures his mouth.

Zexin watches, puzzled, as a new silence sits in the room. He watches as Aymeric’s eyes flicker to the door, which opens just a brief moment later as his butler enters. The finely-dressed Elezen steps to them both, quietly offering a refill of their wine. Zexin politely declines with a wave, and Aymeric removes his hand before muttering a quiet “no, thank you” to his butler. After a few moments, the door shuts behind him and the two are in solitude once more.

The calm does not linger for long.

“May we… speak of this in private?” Aymeric draws his eyes back to Zexin’s, who doesn't hesitate to nod in agreement.

Aymeric spares no time in rising from his seat, guiding Zexin into the hallway where the butler awaits. Aymeric spends a moment speaking quietly to him, announcing the end of their meal and that he was not to be disturbed for several hours. 

Zexin’s guts churn as he is led by Aymeric to his private quarters, but he was not sure if it was from anxiety or the sheer _anticipation_ at what was about to commence. He watches him from behind, positively enchanted by that tall stature, those wide but powerful shoulders and arms, all wrapped neatly in an adorable little coat. It was a far cry from his usual armour, but Zexin loved it all the same. It suited Aymeric well.

When they are finally, _finally_ alone together in Aymeric’s room, he feels as if he can breathe again.

Aymeric sighs after clicking the lock secure, and turns to face Zexin.

“I apologize, I simply… I am a man of status, as you understand—“

“Don’t worry, I get it,” Zexin chuckles, raising his hands for an overexaggerated shrug, “you don’t want the entire kingdom to know about your side piece, huh?” 

“M—My—“ Aymeric sputters, looking aghast. Zexin can only snicker, loving to see his prey at a complete loss for words. He leans in closer, snaking an arm around Aymeric’s waist, loving to feel for himself how perfectly their bodies slide together.

“Now, Ser Aymeric, I believe both of us have waited for this long enough.”

Aymeric presses a hand against Zexin’s chest to prevent him from leaning closer, “Might I ask what you mean exactly?”

A brief pause. 

“I’ve seen the way you look at me.” Aymeric’s eyes go wide at this, and that _adorable_ blush returns, this time spreading to the tips of his ears. Spurred on, Zexin continues, his voice dropping down to a low whisper, “You _want_ me, don’t you?” One hand crawls down to caress Aymeric’s ass, and the knight ushers a gasp and a low moan. “I want to hear it from your lips, Ser Aymeric—“

Without any warning, Zexin’s jaw is brought into a firm grip, and Aymeric growls, his hot breath ghosting right over his lips, “ _Just_ Aymeric,” and he bridges them together with a firm press.

Zexin keens into the kiss without even realizing it, while Aymeric hardly seems to notice, with how fierce and hot his own kisses are. Zexin struggles to keep up with the enthusiastic slide of those perfect, _beautiful_ lips. He can taste the wine they shared on his tongue, the touches they make leaving him more intoxicated than that mead ever did. After several moments, the adrenaline wears off, and their kisses lose their intensity, until they are nothing more than slow, gentle movements. 

When they finally break free, Zexin leans forward, letting their foreheads rest together. They both breathe deeply, a moment of quiet passing over them as they simply soak each other in. Zexin cannot help the soft smile that crawls onto his face.

Aymeric is the one to pull away, detaching the arms that had wound their way around Zexin’s neck. Aymeric allows his hands to rest against his firm chest, if only for a brief moment, as his eyes flick back up to meet with the Warrior of Light’s. They search his gaze, almost questioningly, as if asking: is this okay?

Zexin answers that unspoken question with a chaste press of lips, soaking up the soft sigh that Aymeric ushers, and Aymeric’s hands move to the buttons holding Zexin’s coat together. Aymeric’s fingers act swiftly and with dexterity, mere moments passing before the coat is shrugged off of his shoulders to fall unceremoniously to the floor. He does not hesitate in the slightest when moving on to the little button-up Zexin wears beneath.

It is not until that piece joins the coat that Aymeric finally pauses, his pale blue eyes going wide at the sight before him. Scars upon scars cover the expanse of Zexin’s chest and torso, weaving their way through his skin and scales. Most of them were from a time long before he became an adventurer, much less the Warrior of Light. 

Aymeric seems to realize this as his hands softly trail down them, and Zexin notices the frown forming deeply upon his lips. 

“Is aught amiss?” He questions, watching intently as Aymeric’s gaze flicks back up to match with his own.

“No, I simply…” Aymeric begins, pausing, before biting his lip and looking away, “you have sacrificed much for Eorzea. And… for Ishgard, especially.”

Zexin scoffs, despite the smile that stretches his lips, “You are far too sentimental, my lord.”

The frown on Aymeric’s face deepens.

“Please do not refer to me as such when we are about to—“

“And why not?” Zexin questions as he slots their bodies together once again, his hands resting so comfortably against Aymeric’s hips that they may have belonged there, “I do believe it sits finely on my tongue. However, I would prefer to _scream_ such a title after coming undone at your caress.”

Aymeric shivers violently at that, his eyes fluttering closed. Zexin can feel the hard press of his blatant desire against his leg. Those calloused hands wind their way up his chest, threading into his hair as Aymeric pulls him into a rough kiss, all teeth and tongue. Zexin’s tie comes undone by Aymeric’s ministrations and silver locks flood around his neck and horns in a cascade. 

Then, suddenly, it is _Aymeric_ who presses their bodies closer, letting his arousal be known, soaking up the soft sigh and the moans that escape Zexin’s throat. Unable to resist the temptation, Zexin’s hands push him away just enough so that he may slink them to the front of his trousers. Aymeric moans warmly into his mouth as the ties are undone and Zexin pulls his cock out, letting one hand make a long stroke from base to tip, his thumb digging into the slit.

Aymeric has to pull his lips away as his whines and mewls grow louder, his head dropping upon Zexin’s shoulder, hips rolling enthusiastically into that tight grip.

“I apologize, it… it has been quite some time for me,” Aymeric whispers between breathy moans and shudders.

“You have absolutely _naught_ to apologize for, my lord.”

Zexin enunciates this with another firm stroke, and Aymeric unleashes a full-body shudder.

“I believe I—hah—asked you not to—to… _ahhh—“_

The hands remaining in Zexin’s hair tug violently and he keens at the sensation, watching in delight as Aymeric falls apart right before him. Ser Aymeric de Borel, proud Knight Commander of the Holy See of Ishgard, becoming a mewling and sweating mess right before him, all by _his_ hand. It was a sight to behold.

The thrusting of his hips grows faster, Zexin’s hand essentially becoming nothing more than a hole for Aymeric to rut into. He can feel those delighted gasps upon his breath, the way his moans are split apart by shaky breaths. Zexin can tell that he’s close, his hips stuttering as he climbs near the peak, his breath caught in his throat in one long moan, and—

Zexin pulls his hand away.

Aymeric _whines_ , the sound bringing absolute delight to Zexin, who simply grins. Aymeric’s head shoots up and his brows are bent with his irritation. 

Those devilish hands tug firmly within his hair, “Why did you stop? By the Fury, if I must _restrain_ you, then so be it.”

A low laugh escapes Zexin’s throat, pulled back by Aymeric’s hand and leaving the delicate skin of his neck exposed. “You cannot threaten me with a good time, my lord.”

Aymeric pauses, almost seeming to consider the prospect. Zexin swallows thickly. Aymeric watches the movement of his bobbing throat.

With a sudden shift of expression to something positively _wicked_ , Aymeric releases his hands from his hair and pulls away, choosing instead to let his knees hit the floor. Zexin stumbles back, but Aymeric firmly grips his hips, his fingers dancing over the ties to his trousers. It takes a few seconds for Zexin’s mind to catch up with what was about to happen.

“Wait, my lord, there is something I should have mentioned,” he begins, watching as those pale blue eyes glance up at him curiously, his hands stilling. Zexin swallows before continuing, “we do not have the same, ah… weaponry.”

Aymeric’s brows furrow. His confusion is obvious, until he lets Zexin’s trousers drop to the floor and he takes in the sight of him with only his smallclothes. There is no bulge to be found despite his blatant interest, and something finally seems to click for Aymeric. The knight throws him a soft smile. Genuine.

“It matters not to me. If you will have me, I want you.” Aymeric’s fingers ghost above the remaining article of clothing, “ _all_ of you.”

As if waiting for permission, Aymeric does not move beyond that point. Zexin gives only a quick nod, letting one hand slip into his soft black curls, pushing aside some of the bangs that cover that gorgeous face. Aymeric tugs his smallclothes off, letting them be forgotten on the floor. He takes a moment to push Zexin forward until his knees hit the bed, and Aymeric encourages him to lay on his back. The knight commander grips his scaly thighs and spreads them until his cock can feel the cool air. 

Aymeric’s tongue is on him in an instant, and Zexin moans loudly, his elongated nails digging deeply into his partner’s thick locks. His back arches against the bed, until Aymeric's hands press firmly down on his chest and hips, keeping him still. Normally, Zexin was not one to allow himself to be restrained like so. But for Aymeric? Anything.

That devilish tongue swirls around his cock, and Zexin cannot contain the wailing mewls from escaping his throat. Aymeric hums against him and Zexin writhes at the way that noise vibrates through the head of his cock into his very core. 

“Oh, seven hells, Aymeric, plea— _ohhh_ —” Zexin throws his head back against the comforter when two slim fingers slip inside of him. Gods curse those elongated Elezen fingers of his that dug so far back that they found his sweet spot so quickly. He writhes, fingers moving from Aymeric’s hair to dig in the blankets above his head, and cries with his breath caught in his throat as his orgasm arrives without warning. His hips lilt higher, heels digging into Aymeric’s shoulders, chest heaving with each shuddering breath as he enjoys his release. Aymeric hums into his cock, obviously pleased with himself, before finally releasing him and slipping out his fingers that dripped with come.

“I am surprised you said my name this time,” Aymeric says as he wipes his chin with the back of his hand, and gods, if that wasn’t the hottest thing Zexin could witness.

“Oh?” Zexin smirks, lifting himself up to rest on his elbows. “So now which is it? Your name, or your title? Shame on you, ser knight, tricking me so.”

Aymeric snickers as he crawls atop him on the bed, pressing his lips to Zexin’s and letting their bodies slide together. They fit together so perfectly, two bodies entwined so elegantly. The Warrior of Light sighs warmly into that hot mouth on his lips, letting his hands slide to Aymeric’s waist. 

Aymeric pulls away, his voice dropping low, “I would prefer to hear such a title from your lips when I have you within my grasp, begging for my attention.”

Such filthy words from Aymeric’s mouth were enticing, to be sure, and yet… 

Zexin allowed his hand to slide up Aymeric’s firm, muscular chest all the way to the bottom of his jaw, his hand digging in roughly, eliciting a small gasp from his partner. His long nails dug into that sensitive skin below Aymeric’s ear, not hard enough to draw blood, but enough to draw out a full-body shudder.

Zexin chuckles, his voice dropping low, “How bold of you to assume me to be a _submissive._ ”

Aymeric’s eyes go wide. From exactly which emotion, Zexin is unsure. He decides to test the waters a bit more, laying out his next hand from his deck. He pushes against Aymeric until he is able to flip their positions, thrusting him to the blankets with a shove and straddling his lap. He takes both wrists in hands, such narrow things, even for an Elezen, and pins them above the knight’s head. Aymeric gasps and shudders, but otherwise makes no effort to escape his restraints.

Zexin chuckles again, dipping down low, his forked tongue trailing the highly sensitive length of the Elezen’s ear, drawing out the sweetest mewl and a thrust of hips against the restraint of the Xaela’s thighs. 

“I would very much enjoy having my way with you if given permission, my lord.”

Zexin leaves a lilt in his voice to indicate this as a request, and Aymeric nods fiercely, before gasping out a weak, “ _Please_ …” before his eyes finally open and he looks at his partner’s with nothing short of desperation, “you may do with me as you wish.”

The game was set, the tides shifted into his favour. How could he possibly refuse such a whole-hearted request?

“Such a good boy,” he coos into Aymeric’s ear, teeth nibbling at the cartilage of the tip. The extremely erogenous zone has Aymeric positively _writhing_ , moans devolving into hushed curses against the Fury herself. 

Zexin, quickly grown bored of his own teasing, pulls away, his eyes of silver boring into Aymeric’s of the sky, and he murmurs softly with no hint of mischief, “If aught is amiss, simply say ‘Hraesvelgr,’ and I will stop.”

Aymeric pauses, brows furrowed, before his lips press into a thin line, and he nods. With everything set, Zexin is more than eager to begin. 

“Is there anything within your quarters that may serve as a, let’s say…” Zexin pauses, savouring how Aymeric swallows thickly, as if knowing _exactly_ what he was going to ask, “a restraint?”

The bard absolutely adores the way Aymeric throws his head back against the pillows with a low whimper. His eyes flick to his left, and Zexin catches the movement, following it to the nightstand beside the bed. He slips off of Aymeric, pulling the drawer open and snickering delightfully at what he found.

Several ties of rope, all in different colours, an eye mask, a bottle of scented oil, more toys than Zexin could count in one glance, and a pair of leather cuffs. There is even more buried within the back end of the drawer. All enticing, to be certain, however, there was time to peruse it all at a later date. He pulls out what he was seeking: one tie of a soft rope, choosing the one in royal blue, and the eye mask as well for something _extra._

“Who knew the Lord Commander was so _naughty_ ,” Zexin teases, waving one of the ropes to show Aymeric, “I think I have an idea who these are all for. Our lovely Azure Dragoon, yes?”

Aymeric is _blushing_ so adorably, the crimson reaching the tips of his elongated ears. He turns his head away from Zexin’s watchful eye. The bard laughs, tossing the toys to the bed and making himself comfortable amongst his knight’s narrow sternum. 

“Look at me, Aymeric,” Zexin commands, but the knight refuses. His eyes are kept closed with bent brows. A sigh pools from his lips, before roughly gripping Aymeric’s chin and forcing his head to turn towards him. That elicits a throaty gasp, especially as sharp claws dig into his jaw. “I believe an apology is in order for your behaviour.”

“I—I am sorry, I—”

The slap echoes throughout the quiet room, followed by the loudest moan Zexin has heard that night.

“‘I am sorry, _ser_.’ Try it again.”

“I am s—sorry, ser,” Aymeric stumbles over his breathy whines.

“Good boy,” Zexin encourages softly, rubbing where his slap had left a red indent on Aymeric’s otherwise gorgeous, perfect face. It feels thrilling to mark him so, to destroy that perfection with his own touch.

He enjoys this game, loves seeing the highly revered Knight Commander become a whimpering mess under his command, _his_ touch. He does try to test the waters before pushing too hard, before making him break. Aymeric seems capable of handling this roughness, and that sense of power leaves Zexin craving for more, more, until he has taken all that Aymeric may give.

Suddenly, an idea pops into Zexin’s mind. He grins wildly. Aymeric gulps.

“How often do you receive?”

Aymeric throws his head back, eyes shutting tight. Zexin can feel the hard press of his interest at such a prospect against the cleft of his ass. 

“Halone have mercy…” Aymeric whimpers, stumbling over his next few words, “Not… often. I—I will need to be prepared… thoroughly.”

The subtle yet firm indication that it was not a first for Aymeric has heat bubbling within Zexin’s gut. Oh, how he adores playing this game with his knight.

Zexin pecks the tip of his nose. “It would be my pleasure.”

The Xaela hops off the bed to dig around in the bedside drawer once more, tossing the bottle of oil onto the blankets first. He searches further back, grinning in delight at finding a suitably sized silicone phallus—not too large, but not too small, either—and waves it at Aymeric. The knight’s breath catches in his throat. So, that is a yes. The fake cock joins the other tools lying on the sheets. 

Alas, there is no harness with which Zexin may use. He grumbles a bit at this, making a mental note to bring his own the next time—assuming there would be one—and instead grabs the two remaining ties of ropes. He will figure something out. 

The last he wants to search for is a plug, of which Aymeric has several. With everything gathered together, Zexin crawls his way back onto the bed, capturing Aymeric’s lips in a firm kiss. While keeping him distracted by his tongue, Zexin snakes the eye mask onto his brow, swallowing down the gasp Aymeric leaves upon his lips.

Somehow, Zexin feels a bit of relief at obscuring Aymeric’s vision like so. Without that fierce gaze boring into him, he is able to feel a bit more powerful within their little game. Truly, he can now feel in control.

The rope comes next, and the Warrior of Light is feeling far too impatient tonight to decorate his knight as he truly wishes to. Perhaps another time. He makes do instead with the headboard, tying Aymeric’s wrists together above his head then attaching them by looping through the open spaces of the wood. Two fingers slip through the rope at various points, checking thoroughly for any tightness.

Zexin breaks character for one small moment to inquire, “How does that feel? Not too tight?”

“It is perfect, ser.” Such a good boy he is, so well-behaved yet needy, all for _him_.

“I will continue, then,” Zexin says as he grips Aymeric’s thighs, spreading them wide and making himself comfortable between them. Aymeric gasps, his hips canting up just slightly, desperate for friction as his cock sits upon his belly, untouched.

“Shh, be patient,” Zexin coos as he grabs the plug and covers it in oil, “you will have what you desire _very_ soon.”

Such words speak true as Zexin presses the slick toy against Aymeric’s entrance, and he writhes. Zexin has to maintain a hold on his hips just to keep him still as the toy presses deeper, ever so slowly. He watches what can be seen of Aymeric’s expressions to understand his limits, trying not to stretch him too much too soon. 

When the entire toy is in place, Aymeric releases a pleasured sigh. 

“Sit still for a moment,” Zexin commands as he leaves the bed once more, grabbing the lengths of rope. He spends several minutes untangling them and wrapping them around his waist and legs in such a way that he may slip the larger toy inside. 

“Might I ask what it is that you are so preoccupied with?” Aymeric questions from the bed, his hips impatiently rutting against the empty air.

Zexin chuckles softly as he slips the false phallus through his impromptu harness, “My dear Lord Commander, I do not believe I gave you permission to speak, much less to ask questions.”

He hears the knight’s jaw close with a click of teeth. 

Another laugh from Zexin echoes throughout the room as he drips more oil down the cock at his hips until finally, _finally_ he makes his way back to the bed. Settling himself between Aymeric’s open thighs, he removes the toy from his arse ever so slowly and carefully, tossing it aside to be forgotten. The tip of the false cock presses against his slick, open hole, and Aymeric’s breath hitches.

Zexin leans forward and captures those pliant lips in a kiss that feels ephemeral, soaking up the way Aymeric kisses back like a man possessed, all fire and fury. The knight chases his lips as he pulls away, unable to reclaim what is his without his vision to guide him. He whimpers without shame as Zexin presses the cock inside of him in one slow stroke. 

The slide is smooth, the groan that ushers from Aymeric’s lips once he bottoms out is divine. Zexin waits for some time, watching his partner’s expressions of discomfort carefully, until slowly rocking his hips when he deems it safe to proceed. 

“How’s that?” Zexin leans down to murmur in Aymeric’s ear, “feel good?”

“By Halone, _yes_ ,” Aymeric all but groans, his back arching taught like a bowstring, “move… please, _please_ move…”

The Xaela grins wickedly, one hand snaking its way up those firm pectorals, up his outstretched neck, fingers wrapping themselves around, just beneath his chin, but without pressing down. Aymeric’s breath hitches at the hint of what was to come. The movement of his hips comes to a halt, which leaves the knight even more desperate.

“I want to hear you _beg_ for it, my lord.”

There is no hesitation within how desperately he _wants_ , “P—Please, I beg of you…” Aymeric whimpers as the fingers around his neck press lightly, “move faster, please, please just… _fuck_ me!”

Such a good boy. He deserves his reward for being so obedient.

Zexin pulls out to the very tip, then slams back in with a rough thrust. Aymeric shouts and shivers so violently that he begins to worry the servants of House de Borel may hear their ministrations. Zexin just as quickly realizes: he doesn’t care.

He sets a brutal pace, pulling out such sweet moans and mewls from that perfect little mouth that harmonizes excellently with the song of their hips slapping against each other. One hand keeps itself on Aymeric’s chest, pressing him down so as to prevent his back from arching off the bed. The other remains at his waist, helping to pull their bodies together with each thrust. Aymeric’s wrists tug firmly at their restraints, and Zexin can spot the crimson chafing left upon his skin.

He stops for but a moment, ignoring the whine of disappointment Aymeric leaves, and leans over to undo the rope. Aymeric seems puzzled by this, but regardless, rubs idly at the marked skin. 

Zexin allows him but a moment to rest, going at a leisurely pace. Before long, he is pulling out, ignoring another noise of complaint, and tapping gently at one thigh.

“Turn around. Hands and knees.”

“Y—Yes, ser,” Aymeric murmurs, adjusting himself accordingly. 

Zexin does not hesitate to slide right back into that eager, greedy hole, setting up that brutal pace from before. This seems to win the prize he has so desperately sought after during their game: Aymeric, prostate stabbed repeatedly, unable to do more than _scream_ with each thrust. It is exhilarating to hear. The Lord Commander of Ishgard, getting fucked so beautifully that he is devoid of all words, and all by _his_ hand. 

Aymeric lets his head fall, arms holding tightly to the nearest pillow they could find, his cries muffled by the soft silk. Zexin shifts forward to lean over him, raising his claws down the length of his back. He lets them trail lightly, enough to create marks yet not enough to draw blood. He is rewarded with a deep hissing groan from his partner.

Aymeric’s hips shift backwards to meet his pace, until he finally begins to come undone, “ _Gods,_ yes, right there… _hahhh…!_ ” A hand flails behind him, searching for Zexin’s, “touch me, touch me, please, pl—“

Zexin complies with a growl, “You’ve been so good for me, my sweet Aymeric,” his hand wraps around Aymeric’s bouncing cock, creating a tight hole for him to rut into as he continues his brutal thrust of hips, “ _come for me_.”

Aymeric releases with a _wail_ , soaking the bedclothes beneath him. Zexin keeps his hand in place, slowly stroking to draw out the extent of Aymeric’s orgasm, waiting patiently for his violent shaking and shivering to pass. The knight thwacks his hand away when the sensitivity finally becomes too much.

A chaste kiss between his shoulder blades as Aymeric’s knees finally give out and he flops to the bed below, sighing blissfully. Zexin pulls out, stepping off the bed to remove his makeshift harness, letting both it and the false cock remain on the floor. A problem for another time.

Aymeric removes the face mask, tossing it aside. His eyes slowly peel open as they grow accustomed to the light of the room once more, and he glances up at the Xaela. 

Seeing Aymeric like this: nude, sated, blissed out and thoroughly fucked, was positively gratifying. Zexin cannot help climbing back into bed, pressing a peck on the top of his knight’s head.

“Do you need anything?” Zexin asked, letting a hand pet Aymeric’s hair, adoration obvious in his tone.

“Mm… my blanket is soaked,” he mumbles, voice muffled by the pillow he kept his face pressed into, “I can feel it.”

Zexin howled with laughter, leaving the bed for the washroom within his private chambers, “Mayhaps it is best _not_ to lay down within your own spillage, my lord.” By the time he returns with a wet rag, he sees that Aymeric has finally moved over and tugged the soiled fabric off his bed to the floor below. 

“My thanks,” he says softly as he takes the rag Zexin hands him, proceeding to clean off his belly. Zexin sits beside him on the sheets, watching idly. The rag is tossed to their pile amongst the floor. A problem for another time. 

Zexin makes to leave once more, but Aymeric catches him just in time, a hand tugging his wrist. 

“Lay with me?” The knight inquires. It is nigh impossible to resist the softness of his expression, the smile that tugs at his lips. Zexin concedes without a fight. Aymeric offers up his chest as they make themselves comfortable beneath the sheets, and Zexin complies, cheeks pressed into those firm pecs. 

Zexin was not the type to kiss and tell, often taking what he desired and leaving for the next prize. It had been… quite some time since he’s allowed this level of, say, vulnerability. It leaves him feeling a bit anxious, despite the way his body craves for more. The soft breath against his hair, the calloused hands that careened down his back, the thudding heartbeat he heard against his horn.

On second thought… he could get used to this.

“Is aught amiss, my love?”

Those words have Zexin frozen in place. _My love._ Did he truly deserve such a title?

When he says nothing, Aymeric’s ministrations halt. Zexin wants to whine and beg for him to continue, absolutely savouring the way Aymeric simply _held_ him. But he resists, trying instead to hide his face with an arm. He simply knows that Aymeric is watching him.

“Zexin,” he commands, voice low, “look at me.”

A single finger tilts his chin up, and Zexin finds himself swallowed into the deepest, most sensual and _loving_ kiss he had experienced in all his time within Eorzea. This time, he is the one to whine into the other’s mouth, who pulls away, a lingering thumb brushing the scales along his cheek.

“I…” Zexin begins, voice cracking as his insides shake from his anxiety, “I cannot… be a lover to you.”

That has Aymeric’s eyes going wide at first, then narrowing back down with furrowed brows. 

Zexin should be used to this. The disappointment he left behind with each person he took to bed. How many had it been, through all these years? Far too many to count. Yet, with Aymeric, it is the first time he has felt _guilt_. Why? Why was this any different from the others?

 _Because it is Aymeric_ , his mind reminds him. Lord Commander of the Holy See of Ishgard. Lover of dance and culinary practice. A man who always looked at him with nothing but adoration. To Aymeric, it did not matter who he was. The mistakes of his history could not swerve Aymeric from seeing him for the man he was now, and the man he was still trying to become.

Zexin sighs, shakes his head, buries his face between Aymeric’s neck and shoulder.

Aymeric… seems to understand, albeit with difficulty. “I’ll have you know, that you are not simply a ‘side piece,’ if that is your concern.” Zexin doesn’t move, merely trembles and clutches Aymeric closer. “You are everything to me.”

It is those words that break him. The man who did not know how to love, finding it handed to him instead, right on a silver platter.

Finally, he whispers, just barely loud enough for the knight, _his_ knight, to hear, “I care… about you, and I—I enjoy your presence, I simply…” he tugs his bottom lip, pondering carefully over his next few words, “I need more time.”

“It is fortunate, then,” Aymeric says, leaning forward, lips ghosting over Zexin’s, “that I have all the time in the world.”


End file.
